


In Our Bedroom After The War

by saxophone_solo



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saxophone_solo/pseuds/saxophone_solo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something intense is going to happen in season 4.5. This is a glimpse of the characters' recovery from this event, from Myka's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Our Bedroom After The War

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from a Stars song and has probably titled infinite fics, but it's super appropriate for this situation. Enjoy!

The first night back, she can't sleep. She thinks about everything that just happened and more importantly, everything that could have happened. The regents told the agents to go back to the Inn while “things were sorted out.” Myka wished she knew more about what that meant, but also wishes she knew less about what that meant.

At 2:17, she can't stand being alone in her bed anymore. She can't even focus on her book anymore. Claudia had made her start reading Game of Thrones, because “Pete has only watched the show and I need someone to talk about Arya's arc with.” But the book has too much moral ambiguity for a night like this, so Myka heads downstairs.

She expects no one to be there, but the television light is flashing and she can hear the laugh track already. When she rounds the corner into the living room, she sees Pete sitting cross-legged on the couch, eyes glued to the Friends marathon.

He doesn't even look up when she walks into the living room. “Come sit down Mykes, Joey's about to put on all of Chandler's clothes.” His voice isn't as excited as it normally is when talking about television, it's almost monotonous, and it makes Myka inexplicably sad. She sits down anyway.

“This is a good one,” she says, settling down in the cushions. She leans into Pete a little, enjoying the feel of his worn t-shirt against her arm. “You always reminded me of Joey, you know.”

“Really?” Pete says, gaining a little excitement back into his voice. He's still not up to his usual standard, but he's getting there. “I always wanted to be him. After John McClain and Ian Malcolm, it was Joey Tribiani.” 

“Good choices” Myka says, “Jurassic Park was a great book.”

“Book?” Pete exclaims, and Myka is glad to note his enthusiasm is almost indistinguishable from normal Pete. “I'm sorry, but Jeff Goldblum wasn't starring in no book, lady.”

Myka laughs and so does Pete, as they lay back on the couch together. Ross does a very romantic gesture for Rachel and shenanigans ensue. Myka and Pete keep watching into the next half hour of antics. After almost twenty minutes of silence Pete just asks, “Do you think we're gonna be okay?”

Myka can't bring herself to look at Pete, because associating some faces with sadness hurts sometimes, and she can't do that right now. “We have to be,” she half whispers back. “We have to be okay.”

They don't talk again for the rest of the episode. Myka can feel Pete almost laugh at some points but never out loud. After a while, his breathing steadies and she looks over to see his head fallen back and his eyes are closed. At least someone will sleep tonight.

\----

For the first week after the event-that-shall-not-be-named, it's just the four of them in the Inn. Food shows up in the fridge periodically and once even delivery comes to the door, though no one asks for it.

“Not like I'm complaining,” Pete mumbles through his moo shu pork, “but this is a little weird.”

“Yeah, it feels like we're under house arrest or something,” Steve concurs. “Also, that thought really could have waited until you swallowed.”

“That's what he said,” Pete says, spitting bits of pork out in triumph.

“Original,” Steve says.

Pete finally swallows his food. “But seriously, I mean we basically saved the world. Again. I don't think we should be confined to this Inn after everything.”

“Speak for yourself,” Claudia says. She has been silent this whole time, aimlessly twirling noodles around her fork. Steve and Pete look over at her and Myka even looks up from A Storm of Swords. 

“It's just-” Claudia begins. “We might have saved the world, but we don't get a clean slate. I just think-” She looks down at nothing, and taps her finger nervously. Myka just wants to drag her into a hug but doesn't think now is the right time. “I just think that I deserve much worse than house arrest.”

No one says anything for a solid fifteen seconds. Then there is a sudden rush of consoling from all three of them, but Claudia just gets up and leaves.

“Shit,” Pete says, “I'm so stupid sometimes.”

“It's not your fault,” Steve counters, already up on his feet, “I'll go talk to her.”

“No,” Myka says, “I've get this one.”

Claudia's in her room with her laptop, aggressively staring at the screen. “Hey Claude,” Myka says, poking her head through.

“I was expecting Jinksy or apologetic Pete, but I'll take what I can.”

“Claudia,” Myka says, “you know that you saved the world more than any of us last week. You can't keep blaming yourself for-”

“Listen Myka, Steve gave me this talk about 7 bajillion times yesterday alone. I don't think you can contribute anything new, no offense. Even with your weird pseudo-sister vibes, I'm just not feeling it tonight.”

Myka sits at the foot of Claudia's bed. “I guess you're right. I can't really contribute anything.” She sighs melodramatically. “So I guess you don't want to here about my latest theory on Jon Snow.”

Claudia actually looks up from her laptop and raises and eyebrow. “I definitely didn't say that.” 

Myka smiles.

\----

The first signal from anyone outside their little bubble comes exactly 165 hours after they've been staying exclusively at the Inn. The four of them are sitting around the table playing Settlers of Catan. Myka is kicking all sorts of ass, but she's suspecting that Steve and Claudia have an alliance hoarding all the brick. Suddenly, there's a knock on the door.

All four of them look up. Then there is a grand flurry of movement toward the door, but halfway there, Myka stops them. “I'm gonna go get a Tesla. Just in case.”

There's a murmuring of assent while she runs to the study to get the nearest Tesla. Once she gets there, she hears a three person, out of tune chorus of “MYKA!”

She grabs the Tesla and runs back to the front of the Inn, not sure if that was an excited or scared shouting of her name. She rounds the last corner warily, holding the weapon out in front of her. Instead of seeing the three dunces she expects, there just one figure. 

“Helena?” Myka whispers. 

She looks the same, with the quirked eyebrow and small smirk, her perfectly shiny hair and confident stance. 

“Agent Bering,” she says, her smirk during into a grin, “perhaps the gun is a tad excessive.” 

Myka drops the tesla. 

“Miss me?” Helena asked, still with her smile and her lightheartedness, but her eyes seem so genuine that Myka melts a little inside. 

In two seconds, she's across the room and in Helena's arms. Her hair still smells the same, of basic conditioner with a hint of Earl Grey tea. Myka hears a chuckle in her ear and a whispered, “You did miss me then.”

\----

“You know, in an alternate dimension, I'm a hero,” she says, in the voice Myka recognizes as melancholy, yet somehow light-hearted. It's as if Helena is thinking of herself as a character in a novel even darker than the ones she wrote over a century ago. 

“A martyr, even,” she continues, “I sacrificed myself to save the the whole damned world, yet it was all in another timeline.”

“Helena-” Myka starts, but even she can never interrupt the author when she's being self-reflective.

“Why is it that in this world, I'll still always be the woman who let my daughter die, who almost destroyed the world, who still can't figure out how to work the bloody DVR.” She chuckles bleakly, and Myka can her how Helena's throat is closed up and her eyes are evading her own.

They're lying on Myka's bed in the Inn, which no one calls Leena's anymore because sometimes it hurts to say. Helena's staring up at the ceiling, her arms at her side, breathing steadily. Someone who wouldn't know her couldn't see the emotion in the author, but Myka can see the way she's blinking more than usual, how her lower lip has a slight tremor to it.

She moves closer on the bed to Helena and reaches for her hand. Helena takes it and intertwines their fingers. Myka thinks that's a good sign. They lie like that for a good minutes until Myka leans over so her lips are grazing Helena's ear. “You are a hero, you know,” she whispers softly.

Helena turns her head so their faces are almost touching. “No I'm not,” she says, “but lying next to one such as you makes me believe it just enough.” She presses their lips together for a soft kiss.

Myka still know it's not all the way better, the situation that they find themselves in, but right now she feels something warm inside and out. She kisses Helena back, as sunlight streams through the window, and can pretend it's just the two of them.


End file.
